At the northwest of Golden lies the magnificent Crimson Forest, where the earth and grass are red as blood. Legend says this place was once where a mighty dragon met its death, its bones rose into mountains, its blood turned into rivers, and its flesh became the land itself. Those who have lived here for generations have, over time, carried within themselves the bloodline of the dragons. Their eyes resemble those of reptiles, their mouths bear fangs, and their bodies are covered with glimmering scales. They are none other than the DragonScale, beings of extraordinary power and unmatched physical strength, perhaps the most complete among all six tribes. Yet, even that is only a small part of the hidden iceberg beneath.

  This tribe divides its hierarchy by bloodline. The lowborn, with diluted dragon blood, inherit only fragments of draconic physique. The midborn are far stronger, possessing the Breath of the Dragon. Those with high-level bloodlines can undergo Dragonization, becoming several times more powerful than their usual selves. However, above all those ranks, there still exists another stage that only an extremely few have ever reached, the Reversion. Drake, the current chieftain of Dragon Scale, is the one who possesses the highest concentration of dragon blood ever recorded in history, the only Reversion since the age of the DarkGod.

  Deep within the Crimson Forest stands a grand stone palace, vast and towering, its walls carved with coiling dragon motifs and lit by blazing torches. Seated upon his throne, Drake frowned as a lowly Green Assassin knelt before him, handing over a sealed intelligence letter written personally by Heria. Its contents revealed that a Writter had aided the forces of Hesmor.

  “A ‘Shadow’ of Sorcerer King rank has appeared within Hesmor’s camp. Richer cannot be contacted… It seems NightWing’s words were not baseless.”

  Drake had never thought himself one to sit at the same table as the other tribal chiefs, except for Mys. Each time he faced her, an instinctive fear welled up within him, a beastly intuition that only those of high blood could feel. Drake trusted his instincts deeply.

  After Richer’s SilverFang Purge, Mys had reached out and told him that Richer seemed to harbor a far greater scheme, not merely a desire to rule over Golden. He wanted to turn Golden into a stepping stone, a sacrifice. Touching the leadership badge of DragonScale in his hand, Drake suddenly recalled the words of his father:

  “No matter what happens, the tribes of Ossa once fought side by side as brothers in the dark age. A time will come when unity is needed once again.”

  “Prepare my pet,” Drake ordered the steward standing nearby, his eyes deep and somber.

  “Perhaps it is time I personally pay a visit to Bloodclaw. Richer has probably been a king for far too long already."

  Right at the territory of Blood Claw, the war had become extremely intense. One hundred thousand soldiers of Hesmor surged forward like a flood, launching a frontal assault against twenty thousand defenders of Golden. The clash of steel rang out with the screams of men, the very sound of hell itself. Blood and fire intertwined, forming a grand symphony of war.

  Boom!

  The Iron Rhinos rampaged like giants, sweeping through Hesmor’s formations, every swing scattered dozens of soldiers. Despite their overwhelming numbers, Hesmor’s army still couldn’t break through the defensive line. The Iron Rhinos’ formation was far too solid; ordinary strikes were useless against them, and even some Ultimate Skills did nothing more than scratch an itch. Their massive hammers crushed Hesmor soldiers into pulp. Behind them, Golden’s arrows rained down like storms, piercing countless enemy soldiers at the vanguard. The few who survived were engulfed by green mist, from within it, the Green Assassins reaped their lives one by one. If Hesmor’s troops tried to counterattack, the assassins would dissolve into mist and slip back behind the Iron Rhinos.

  Taking advantage of the enemy’s focus on the front line, on Hesmor’s flank, Nash and five hundred wolf cavalrymen charged down the slope in a surprise assault on the catapults and archers. Blades sharper than steel cut through armor with sheer speed, slicing men clean in half. The wolves, intoxicated by the scent of blood, grew even more savage, ripping, clawing, and tearing their enemies apart. Hundreds fell within moments. But the fiercest of them all was Nash and his Wolf King mount. Nash was like a war god, an unstoppable force on the battlefield. Wherever he went, corpses piled high; no one could survive his second strike. The chieftain of Blood Claw swung his great blade through a catapult, splitting it to pieces, and the soldiers nearby were cleaved to death by the sheer force of the blow.

  Seeing chaos erupting on the flank, Ceasar wanted to personally lead a force to suppress it, but Mullack stopped him.

  “It’s a trap! If you go, you’ll die for sure,” Mullack said calmly.

  “A trap? They only have five hundred men! If I lead the charge myself, I can crush them easily.” Ceasar was confident, no matter how strong the enemy, they couldn’t stand against a disciplined army under command. The difference in strength between a led army and a disorganized one was immeasurable.

  Mullack smiled faintly. He had already summoned Volder to observe from above. Volder’s Will covered almost the entire battlefield, and it didn’t take much to sense three powerful presences near the ambushed flank.

  “Besides Nash, there are two more chieftains hidden there. If I’m not mistaken, their target this time is you, Ceasar. Don’t underestimate the Green Assassins’ intelligence network. You should take command of the front line leave those three to me.”

  “Kill!” The furious cry echoed across the battlefield. The wolf cavalry were drunk on bloodlust, slaughtering Hesmor’s troops without fatigue. The more they bled, the wilder they became. The longer they fought, the stronger they grew.

  “No! They’re monsters! Run for your lives!” A terrified soldier threw down his weapon and turned to flee "Boom!" a surge of Will instantly crushed him into a mangled heap of flesh. That killing style was unmistakable, the newcomer was none other than Mullack. The pirate’s words were soft, yet his tone cut through hearts like a blade of ice. “Anyone who flees… dies.”

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  Mullack’s presence spread like a sedative through Hesmor’s ranks. The word “Dies” resounded again and again, terrifying the enemy while igniting their own soldiers’ bloodlust. The soldiers of Hesmor roared and charged at the riders like men who knew no fear of death.

  “Kill!" “Kill!” “Kill!”

  Before long, a wolf cavalryman fell. His body pierced by a thousand spears, his wolf’s head severed and raised high amid the army’s triumphant roar.

  “Look! They bleed the same as us! Cut off their heads. They die too!”

  Thus, one by one the mounted riders fell, and the tide of battle began to turn. Nash glared at Mullack, he was not Ceasar but the Writter Heria had described. The plan seemed exposed, but no matter; they would take Mullack’s head as an extra prize.

  “Come out! I know you’re hiding there! And you, beautiful girl, this time I will not let you go.” Mullack proclaimed arrogantly, a domineering confidence radiating from him.

  A swirl of green smoke condensed beside Nash, Heria appeared, eyes burning with hatred, a short wavy blade in her hand. The blade’s edge writhed like a snake; obviously this was no ordinary knife but a powerful magical weapon. Elsewhere, Hush also appeared, clad in gleaming steel armor that caught the eye. It seemed he was able to remain unseen thanks to Heria’s great efforts. In his hand he wielded a massive spiked mace, its sharp spikes radiating a chilling aura of lethality.

  “Hmph! I don’t know why you aided Hesmor, Writter, but you dared kill my sisters so I will take your life" Heria pointed her blade at Mullack and shouted in fury.

  Boom! The aura of the three leaders burst out violently, flinging nearby soldiers aside. It quickly spread to Mullack but was checked by a strong surge of Will from a pale-skinned figure cloaked in a covering robe.

  “‘Shadow’ Voder, Lord of Darkness.”

  “All three leaders arrive together! What an honor! But if that’s all, the three of you will surely die!” Mullack laughed icily. Filament-thin streams of mana flowed from his fingers. The first ability he had claimed.

  “Ability: Puppet Control.”

  The threads immediately wove into the nearby corpses, threading through bodies and forcing them to move as if alive. Torn and severed parts were stitched together by the filaments, even greatly reinforced. Before long a hundred puppet soldiers stood behind Mullack, including fallen wolf cavalry.

  “Hmph! How dare you trample the corpses of our brave warriors! Today you die!” Nash roared in rage, charging first.

  Mullack’s finger twitched and the puppets leapt up to encircle Nash. Beside him, Volder also unleashed deadly magics against the other two. Bang! A spell detonated with a ground-shaking blast, but Heria quickly became green smoke and reappeared behind Mullack, driving a series of fatal stabs into him. Mullack spun filaments from his fingers to defend; though the threads seemed fragile they were stiffer than steel, and clashed with Heria’s blade, sparks flying.

  Clang Clang Clang

  Heria slipped in and out of view, transforming into smoke to shift positions before materializing again to strike Mullack, putting him on the defensive. She did not seek a killing blow; the dagger in her hand carried a deadly poison derived from thousands of venomous serpents. All she needed was a slight scratch on his skin. Seeing his master under pressure, Volder immediately attacked Heria with “Will” to provide support.

  “Roar!”

  A shout from Hush reverberated across the battlefield. The sonic wave provoked Volder, forcing it to turn and attack Hush instead. Mullack channeled mana into his threads, flicking them toward Heria. The razor-sharp strands pierced through her smoky form, slicing the ground into fragments.

  “Her ability is troublesome,” Mullack muttered. Volder seemed affected by a brief “Taunt” effect and could not assist him. Without the interference of “Will,” her power would have been extremely difficult to handle. “However,” Mullack devised a plan, his fingers trembling slightly. From afar, a puppet lunged, drawing all of Heria’s smoky form into its body. The puppet’s corpse turned dark purple, its belly swelling until “Boom!”. Heria escaped from the blood-filled body, but her smoke had visibly thinned while transforming. Mullack immediately recognized this weakness, repeatedly controlling the puppet to perform the same action.

  “Boom! Boom! Boom!”

  “Damn it!” Heria cried in anger. Her mana was depleting; soon she would be unable to transform anymore. Scanning the battlefield, the situation looked grim. Hush was barely holding off the “Shadow,” and Nash was surrounded by a mass of undead puppets. Heria knelt, plunging her sword into the ground, speaking in despair:

  “Damn it! We’ve lost… you are too strong.”

  “You realize the difference in skill, do you? Too bad, but I still have to kill you,” Mullack said smugly, stepping closer. He squeezed Heria’s neck with the razor-sharp threads, slowly constricting, blood running down her fair skin.

  “Any last words?” Mullack asked generously.

  Heria looked directly into Mullack’s eyes and suddenly gave a ghostly smile. Her serpent eyes glimmered with an eerie light.

  “Ultimate Skill: Petrifying Gaze.”

  “You ...” Mullack froze, unable to move. A legend of the Emerald Range flashed through his mind.

  “Ha ha ha!” Nash laughed heartily, no longer needing to act. “Boom!” With a swing of his arm, the puppets shattered. Without Mullack’s control, the puppets lay in ruin, unable to regenerate. Heria picked up a dagger from the ground and slowly drove it into Mullack’s heart. The poison began destroying his body; dark purple blood poured from his ears, nostrils, eyes, and mouth.

  “Die! Your death will bring peace to my sisters.”

  Mullack collapsed, trembling in agony, finally lying still. Heria exhaled deeply.

  “It’s all over! Rest in peace, my sisters.”

  Just as Heria allowed herself a moment of relief, “Boom!” Hush was hurled toward her. His body was riddled with wounds, the steel armor long shattered. The attacks of a Sorcerer King were overwhelming. Hush wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, shouting in fury:

  “What are you daydreaming about! Hurry and help me! The ‘Shadow’ is still active! That bastard isn’t dead yet!”

  “What?” Nash and Heria exclaimed in unison.

  Suddenly, Heria noticed a thread of mana stretching from Mullack’s corpse to a parrot hovering in the sky, its eyes fixed on her with mocking intent. In that instant, everything clicked. This was the gaze that had unsettled her that night.

  “It’s him! It’s him! He is the true form!” Heria cried in terror, pointing at the small figure suspended in the air.

  “Ha ha ha ha… Ha ha ha ha… ha ha ha ha…” The parrot’s laughter grew louder, wilder, more insane.

  Its form shifted into a thin, gaunt man with angular features, naturally naked. His fingers controlled the threads, pulling Mullack’s body back and swiftly changing the corpse’s clothing.

  “So the legend of Medusa is true! You’ve surprised me, girl!”

  Mulock meticulously adjusted the clothing, now fitting him perfectly. He smiled but the smile was brimming with lethal intent. At that moment, Hush was quickly struck unconscious. Though his body was incredibly resilient and resistant to physical attacks, he could not withstand “Will.” He had been gravely injured after repeatedly provoking and intercepting attacks from Volder. Now unconscious, mana threads coursed through his body, controlling him like a puppet. Hush lunged toward Heria, swinging his massive steel spiked mace continuously. Heria struggled to evade; she could not strike back at him. Meanwhile, Nash faced a relentless onslaught from both Mulock and Volder.

  “They call you Nash, right? I see you enjoy performing, Nash. Let’s put on a little play together! Let’s see… "The Wolf and the Lambs", perfect for us,” Mulock taunted.

  He began to transform: black fur sprouted across his body, sharp fangs gleaming, eyes blood-red, with the sounds of bones and muscle shifting in terrifying unison. In an instant, he became a massive black wolf, even larger than the King Wolf Nash rode. The wolf stalked slowly toward Nash, its shadow enveloping him, swallowing the surrounding light.

  “But don’t get it wrong! I AM THE WOLF.”